Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
It wasn’t all smooth sailing—there were bumps along the way and a steep learning curve—but The Haven was there to stay. Truett and I had already started dreaming of future locations.
My son bounced on his toes, patience not something he was familiar with. “She’s already waiting for me halfway. So can I go? Please. Please. Please.”
“Fine,” I relented, stabbing a finger in his direction. “But I don’t care what she says. You are not allowed to cook anything again.”
He groaned in protest as he bolted through the door, bounding down the front steps. I followed, watching as he raced up the sidewalk to where Lucille stood grinning at the end of the block. We exchanged a wave as he reached her, and when they turned toward the restaurant, I went back inside.
Truett was still sitting in the lone wooden chair, staring at the TV, and I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or just lost in thought. Either way, we were alone, and I never missed a chance to steal a kiss.
I walked over to him and aimed my words at the dog. “Ms. Fiona, any chance I can borrow my husband for a while? You’ve been hogging him long enough.”
Truett laughed and immediately set her on the floor. She was none too happy about it and yipped at his feet, but I slipped onto his lap without a trace of guilt.
Three months earlier, while we were cuddled on the back porch, watching Fiona chase frogs, Truett had proposed. The night was cool, the moon high among the stars. He’d been off for a few days, and I could tell something was on his mind. A million possibilities ran through my head, but a ring wasn’t one of them.
We hadn’t discussed getting remarried yet, but it seemed Truett had been planning it for a while. As he got down on one knee, making promises to love me the way I had always deserved, he lifted a custom-made ring in my direction.
To say it was gorgeous would be an understatement, and not just because of the design. The thought he’d put into every detail made it absolutely stunning. I hadn’t known that he’d kept my old rings, the ones I’d dropped at his feet the day of Kaitlyn’s funeral.
He’d had the gold melted down to make a new three-stone setting. In the center was an emerald-cut diamond that he said represented our future. It was clear, flawless, and filled with promise. Flanked on either side were symbols of our past and present: Kaitlyn’s and Nate’s birthstones. Our entire lives wrapped into one stunning, never-ending circle.
There was never a doubt that I’d say yes.
Within a month, we’d tied the knot in a small, intimate ceremony at The Haven, surrounded by love, laughter, and the people who mattered most to us. And yes, even Dinky was in attendance. The Haven had become the symbol of a fresh start for me, and nothing made me happier than to say I do there.
“It’s time,” Truett whispered, his warm hand moving from my thigh to grab the remote.
I shifted on his lap, trying to get a better read on his face.
We were turning the keys over to charity the next day, so it felt right to watch the documentary in his house—a final act of closure we both not only needed but deserved.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, framing his strong jaw in my palms.
“Baby, you’re sitting on my lap, and when this is over, we get to grab Nate, go home, crawl into bed together, and move into the future together. So yeah, I’d say I’m pretty damn okay.”
My voice hitched. “You’re an incredible man, you know that, right?”
“I don’t know about that.” His lips curled into a gentle smile. “But we do make one hell of a team.”
Taggart Folly hadn’t stopped harassing us until we were finally granted restraining orders against him. We’d hoped that it would be the end of his little project, but not long after he left town, we got word from our attorney that he was moving forward with a film he’d titled The Massacre at Watersedge. It was a punch in the gut, and we’d used every resource we could to fight it, but ultimately, there was nothing we could do to stop him from releasing what was surely going to be a sensationalized version of such a horrible tragedy.
But there wasn’t a chance in hell we were going to let him have the last word. Truett and I might not have been able to control his narrative or how he portrayed the events of that day, but we had something Taggart Folly didn’t.
We had the truth.
The second Truett decided that it was time to tell his side of the story, he made it clear that there would be no documentary about the shooting at The Watersedge Mall. The maniac who had ruined countless lives didn’t deserve one single second of fame or notoriety.